


Wardrobe husbands

by SadGladMad



Series: Public relations [4]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humour, Getting dressed together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 23:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18486535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadGladMad/pseuds/SadGladMad
Summary: A GQ style icon vs a fashion forward boy wonder...who will be the victor?Stay tuned for the upcoming episode of WARDROBE HUSBANDS!





	Wardrobe husbands

 

“You can’t wear that Armie!”

“Why the fuck not? It’s my favourite shirt?”

“ Because we look like idiots..you idiot.”

“ Hey! I do not! I was GQ style icon in 2020 so screw you Chalamet,” came the sassy reply. “ I look stylish and urbane,” he declared in pompous faux upper class toff voice.

“Ya look like a fuckin handbag, you ass..” Timmy replied scathingly.

Horror and a lack of comprehension duelled on Armie’s face.

“Well, you look equally ridiculous!” He yelled. “You’re practically wearing the same outfit…so you’re just an idiot too.”

Timmy came to stand behind him, looking at their reflections in the mirror. Standing in tip toes to rest his chin on Armie’s red velvet clad shoulder.

“We’re both wearing red suits with blue shirts. We look like matchy matchy flight attendants for fucks sake!” He snuck a kiss in under Armie’s chin.

Armie laughed and chased his lips with lethal speed. Before he could protest about their tight schedule, Timmy was pressed frantically against the mirror having the sense of time and space removed from his higher cerebral functions. Via his mouth…or his groin. He couldn’t be sure.

When he came up for air he was gasping. Mouth swollen, cheeks flushed, heated and maybe even slightly sweaty.

“I’ll change my shirt,” Armie declared smugly. Leaving his husband dazed and dreamy. In need of a brain transplant. Timmy folded to the floor staring. Hardly blinking as Armie removed his jacket and then the blue shirt. “My stylist is gonna be pissy,” he warned as he dove into the walk-in-robe.

Timmy shook his head rapidly, from side to side and clambered up to join him on his side of the closet.

“ This one? Or this one?” Armie placed 2 collared shirts (one white and one cream) in front of his beautiful bared torso and Timmy had to tell himself to focus.

He got it together enough to pull the fitted black silk shirt off the hanger. It had a mandarin collar that could be worn unbuttoned. He held it up and nodded at his own personal Jesus (when Armie had started playing his old New Romantics playlist Timmy had no idea how obsessed he was going to be by Depeche mode). He held it out so Armie could put his arms inside the fitted sleeves. He had put on so much muscle for his latest role.

“Hmm…it’s a little tight Timmy,” he commented as he started doing up the front buttons. The silk mix shirt clung to his pecs.

“So it is,” smirked Timmy, sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth. Then undoing the top 3 buttons. Then running his hands up and down the lush soft silk front. “Hmmmm,” he intoned innocently ,” that’s better isn’t it? “ Armie looked so broad, narrowing to his lean waist and tight hips… and so masculine. All chest hair and stubble in a designer (thank you Brioni) suit.

Armie laughed. “You can stop drooling babe. You can apologise for yelling at me after we get back. And come to think of it. I might have sustained hurt feelings that need soothing later too.” He raised his eyebrows looking every inch a 6’5 sin.

“Promise?” Timmy pleaded huskily.

 

 


End file.
